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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894842">Fairy Godbrother</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler'>envysparkler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Brother Acquisition, Child Neglect, Dimension Travel, Fix-It, Gen, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Kidnapping, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Time Travel, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:34:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What are brothers for?</p><p>(Or: some minor dimensional travel, pseudo-kidnapping, and a whole lot of meddling.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd, Tim Drake &amp; Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1516</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Jason Todd Steals the Batmobile Tires, impravidus's favorite fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Nightwing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775414">Tough Love</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/pseuds/iselsis">iselsis</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Because I read Ise's fic and the possibilities just astounded me.</p><p>This story is set a month and a half after Jason's mom's death, so Jason is ten years old.  The annoying part of writing this was trying to balance baby Jay's suspicion and paranoia with his grief.</p><p>(Your irregular reminder that the author has never touched a DC comic in her life.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Jason resisted the urge to take a glance behind him, and kept his pace constant.  He wanted to start running, ice-cold prickles trickling down his spine and jolting with every scuff of shoe on pavement.</p><p> </p><p>They weren’t trying to hide themselves – footsteps loud and slightly off-balanced, far too close for comfort.  Drunk on alcohol and power, and they’d <em>seen</em> the wad of cash Frank handed Jason.</p><p> </p><p>He took a deep breath and brushed the edge of an alley, grabbing the exposed brick to take the corner quickly, and speeding up once he was out of sight.  He ducked around a dumpster, his heart rate increasing as the loud footsteps – two distinct pairs, Crime Alley drawl, low sniggers – followed him.</p><p> </p><p>He still had the tire iron in his hands, and he gripped it tightly.  A couple of good swings –</p><p> </p><p>The air crackled.</p><p> </p><p>There was a loud screech, like fingernails scraping against the wall, and getting away was momentarily halted by the instinctive urge to cover his ears as the sound grated into his bones.  The men shouted, and Jason heard a harsh, rattling gasp and the dull whine of electricity.</p><p> </p><p>“Bat!” someone called out, and the alleyway cleared remarkably fast.  Heavy footsteps receded into the distance as something crashed into the opposite side of the dumpster, and Jason stayed frozen in place, waiting for the rustling that always preceded Batman.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing.  Jason darted a quick look up, but no sign of a dark, fluttering cape.  Nothing but the soft groans from the other side of the dumpster.</p><p> </p><p>They were quiet – hitched breaths and soft, pained sounds – but Jason had learned to keep his ears sharp, and especially so in the last couple months.  He edged forward slightly – keeping his grip on his tire iron, the small fold of bills burning a hole in his pocket – and slowly peered around the edge of the dumpster until he could see the unlucky stranger.</p><p> </p><p>They blended into the shadows – Jason spent a full ten seconds trying to discern shape before realizing that they were clad in form-fitting black, the faintest hint of a blue design shimmering in the low light.  The figure made another pained hiss, shifting up until they were reclined against brick.</p><p> </p><p>Dark hair.  Skin too tan to be white.  And a familiar black outline over the eyes.</p><p> </p><p>A <em>mask</em>?  Jason frowned.  Batman had that stupid pointy-eared cowl, and Robin wore a lot more colors than this.  Who was <em>this</em> guy?</p><p> </p><p>Jason tightened his grip on the tire iron as the masked figure pressed a hand to their side, panting soundlessly.  He had made sure to keep still and silent, so he was taken aback when the masked figure froze, whiteout lenses suddenly fixed on him.</p><p> </p><p>Jason stumbled back, his heart hammering, ducking back behind the dumpster.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” the figure called out, low with a slight rasp, Gotham drawl with the faintest hint of a dock accent.  “I don’t bite.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason warily poked his head back around the dumpster.  The masked figure was smiling slightly, still leaning against the brick wall.  “Who are you?” Jason asked gruffly.</p><p> </p><p>“Nightwing,” the figure volunteered easily, and Jason stepped a little further out of the shadows – that wasn’t the name of any Gotham villain.  “And what’s <em>your</em> – Jay?” the figure broke off with a gasp.</p><p> </p><p>Jason stepped back, raising the tire iron.  “What did you call me?” Jason snarled, his heartbeat thundering – how had he – who told him – was someone <em>after</em> him –</p><p> </p><p>The figure stared at him for a long moment, lenses widening as they scanned Jason from head to toe – Jason fidgeted under this scrutiny, trying to look taller and broader than he really was.  Nightwing was still on the ground, though, and hurt – Jason bet he could take off if he got a good hit at their injured side.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Nightwing said finally, their gaze sharpening, “You looked like someone else.  What’s your name, kid?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason hesitated, hovering in place – they were injured, and they didn’t <em>look</em> like a villain, so maybe they were a new vigilante – and they had scared off the guys following him.  Jason could’ve probably outsmarted two drunk idiots, but if they’d <em>caught</em> him – well.  “You can call me Jay,” Jason shrugged, “You some kind of vigilante?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Nightwing grimaced, “From Bludhaven.”  That unnerving white-eyed gaze was fixed on him, and Jason tensed automatically.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a long way from home,” Jason said cautiously.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing made a short, unamused laugh.  “You have no idea,” they said dryly, casting a look around the alleyway as though they were seeing it for the first time.  They still hadn’t moved to get up, and Nightwing grimaced as they shifted position, their hand curled below the ribs, pressing above their right hip.</p><p> </p><p>Jay swallowed – but if he left Nightwing here, they’d be found by the criminals or the cops, and neither were a good prospect.  “Do you – do you want some help?” he asked quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing’s gaze fixed on him for a long moment.  “Yeah,” they said finally, “That would be great.  Thanks, Jay.”</p><p> </p><p>Jay edged all the way around the dumpster, and shifted to holding the tire iron one handed as he held the other out to Nightwing.  The vigilante was <em>heavy</em>, and Jason had to brace himself against the dumpster as he pulled them upright.</p><p> </p><p>For a vigilante, he seemed pretty short, but he was still half a foot taller than Jason and he edged back a wary step as Nightwing straightened, grimacing as the movement pulled at his side.  Jason eyed the injury – he couldn’t see much in the semi-darkness, but the gloves looked suspiciously wet.</p><p> </p><p>“Um,” Jason said, “I know someplace you can –”</p><p> </p><p>“No hospitals,” Nightwing cut him off.</p><p> </p><p>“But Dr. Thompkins doesn’t –”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No hospitals</em>,” Nightwing repeated, his firm tone undercut by the way he was sagging against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>It had never really occurred to Jason that the capes could be injured.  Batman was a night terror – the Dark Knight of Gotham, the nightmare waiting in the shadows, the boogeyman for criminal and civilian alike.  Robin – well, half of Gotham didn’t believe Robin was <em>human</em>, and popular ideas included a trickster spirit that Batman had bound to his will.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing looked like a regular human who thought going out in a mask and spandex was a good idea, and had unfortunately run straight into the consequences of that decision.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to be okay?” Jason asked – the vigilante was beginning to shiver.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just a graze,” Nightwing smiled at him, which was not an answer to Jason’s question.</p><p> </p><p>Jason bit his lip, hovering near the vigilante as he limped to the end of the alley.  “I,” Jason said slowly, “I have a first aid kit.  I can get it for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing tilted his head to one side, like a curious bird, before he smiled.  “Thanks, Jay,” he said, “That would be a great help.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stay here,” Jason instructed, before running all the way home.  He checked periodically over his shoulder, but no one seemed to be following him, and he didn’t see even a hint of blue.</p><p> </p><p>He stuffed the cash underneath the mattress and found the first aid kit buried behind a small wall of painkiller bottles.  He grabbed the kit and made sure to lock the door behind him before hurrying back down the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing hadn’t moved – he was slumped in the shadows, breathing heavily, and Jason had to call his name two times before the white lenses fixed on him.  “Here,” Jason said, handing over the kit.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Jay,” Nightwing croaked out, rummaging through the kit before he picked out a tube of antiseptic and some gauze.  His gaze swung back to Jason, “You should get back home.  Your parents will be worried.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Jason said, feeling the hollow inside his chest ache anew, “I should be getting back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for all your help!” Nightwing called back as Jason left the alley.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jason didn’t know what had possessed him to go back to the alleyway the next afternoon, as the sunlight waned and the day shifted from the period when well-meaning bystanders would ask unattended children why they weren’t in school to the period when they were allowed to roam the streets with impunity.</p><p> </p><p>Understanding people’s expectations was the first step in dodging them, and Jason had learned that well.  School wasn’t an option, not now, not when they would ask too many questions – Jason had managed to keep the apartment with a collection of lies, and managed to avoid notice with a different, contrary collection of lies, but he was aware that it would just take one suspicious busybody to bring the whole thing crashing down.</p><p> </p><p>Suspicious busybodies like the guys that ran around with masks and colorful costumes.</p><p> </p><p>But Jason wasn’t going <em>out of his way</em> to check out the alley, and Nightwing had probably made it back to Bludhaven anyway, so, really, Jason was just checking to make sure he hadn’t dropped something in his run.</p><p> </p><p>The alley was empty.  Jason took a glance around, poked his head into the shadows, and turned to leave, satisfied.</p><p> </p><p>Someone had moved the dumpster, though.</p><p> </p><p>It was probably the garbage trucks.  Or someone doing some dumpster diving.  Or – the dumpster had been shoved closer to the fire escape.  Close enough that someone with an injured side would have less difficulty reaching the ladder.</p><p> </p><p>Jason eyed the fire escape, noting closed blinds all the way to the top.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t his business.  Nightwing had helped him, but he was a cape, and he’d start asking questions, and that was the <em>last</em> thing Jason needed right now.</p><p> </p><p>Jason huffed out a frustrated breath, glanced around him, and took a running start to clamber on top of the dumpster.</p><p> </p><p>The fire escape was half-rusted, and Jason made his way up warily, pausing at every screeching squeak.  He checked every windowsill as he passed it, but found no trace of blood on any of them, and he finally poked his head over the edge of the roof.</p><p> </p><p>It was a typical apartment roof – rooftop access door, a little shed for maintenance, the air conditioning vents – and showed no signs of any squatters.  Admittedly, there was little space for anyone to hide – the maintenance shed was tiny and probably full of equipment, the edging along the roof wasn’t high enough to keep out the wind, and the space between the air conditioning vents was maybe wide enough to fit a small child.</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s first step on the roof crunched gravel under his shoe, and the air suddenly stilled.</p><p> </p><p>Looks like he was wrong about the squatter.</p><p> </p><p>Jason warily edged forward, eyeing the shed and the door as he moved closer to the air conditioning vents.  He tried to be quiet, but the soft shifting of gravel was very obvious in the still air, as was the increasing tension.</p><p> </p><p>Jason swallowed before he reached the air conditioning vents.  “Nightwing?” he called out, feeling a little foolish.</p><p> </p><p>The silence stretched, the tension ratcheting up before – “Jay?” Nightwing replied hoarsely.</p><p> </p><p>Jason edged around the vents and found Nightwing folded up in the empty space between them.  He did <em>not</em> want to know how Nightwing managed to contort himself enough to fit, jeez, did the guy not have bones?</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Jay!” Nightwing <em>beamed</em> and, despite the sallow tint to his skin and the red sheen to the torn part of his costume, the smile felt like the sun had woken up.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you.  How are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Clearly better than you,” Jason said, crouching down to get a better look at Nightwing.  His suit was thin and stretchy, the dark only broken by the blue design Jason had seen yesterday – it looked like some sort of bird, the wings stretching out to Nightwing’s shoulders and running down his arms to splay across his fingers.  “Did you seriously sleep out <em>here</em>?  In this weather?  Wearing <em>that</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>The suit was far too thin to offer any sort of protection against the cold – or against <em>anything</em>, Jason could see the edges of white gauze poking through the gash in the costume, dotted with red.</p><p> </p><p>“I unfortunately didn’t have time to look for a place to stay,” Nightwing said, slowly pushing himself off the ground – he couldn’t entirely hide his wince, though, and Jason could see how fiercely he was clinging to the edge of the vent.  “And all a bird really needs is a good nest!”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not a bird,” Jason scowled, stepping back at the sheer <em>cheerfulness</em> the man exuded, “And I thought you’d be back in Bludhaven by now.”</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing gave a half-shrug.  “There were some difficulties with my chosen method of transportation.  I think I’m stuck here for a while.”  He glanced at the dark watch wrapped around his left wrist and gave Jason a mock mournful look.</p><p> </p><p>“You planning on sleeping here again?” Jason frowned at him, taking in the tightness of the man’s smile and the weight he was leaning against the vent.</p><p> </p><p>The other homeless found shelters to stay in, or fires to huddle around, but Jason supposed wearing a mask ruled out both those opportunities.  There weren’t many good hiding places in Crime Alley and, this close to winter, all of them would be taken.</p><p> </p><p>“It isn’t <em>that</em> bad,” Nightwing laughed – and shivered when an icy breeze skimmed across the roof.</p><p> </p><p>Jason would regret this.  He <em>knew</em> he would regret this.  He should’ve never even come looking for the guy – in Gotham, keeping your mouth shut and your eyes on the ground was the best way to survive.  Messing around in other people’s business was just asking for trouble.  Messing around with <em>capes</em> was asking for a bullet to the back, or fear gas to the face.</p><p> </p><p>But Nightwing kept smiling, the joyfulness completely at odds with Gotham’s dour nature, and yet the smile never looked fake for a second.</p><p> </p><p>“If you buy dinner,” Jason said before he could talk himself out of it, “You can stay at my place tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing looked at him – still smiling, but clearly as wary of the offer as Jason was giving it.  Good.  If he’d jumped for it – if a strange man in Gotham had eagerly followed a little boy home, Jason would’ve kicked him between the legs.</p><p> </p><p>It was okay.  Nightwing was injured, and Jason still had his tire iron.</p><p> </p><p>“Are your parents going to be okay with that?” Nightwing asked slowly.</p><p> </p><p>Jason chewed his lip, but Nightwing would find out soon anyway.  “Dad’s in jail,” he said casually, “Mom’s in the hospital.  No one will mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“If you’re sure,” Nightwing said, a thread of doubt winding into his tone.</p><p> </p><p>Once they started moving, it was clear the Nightwing was nowhere <em>near</em> fine.  He was woozy on his feet, and Jason’s plan to go down the fire escape had to be shelved in favor of picking the lock on the rooftop access door and using the actual stairs, because half of Nightwing’s weight was on his shoulder and the man looked frighteningly pale under the mask.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure you don’t want to –”</p><p> </p><p>“No hospitals,” Nightwing repeated firmly.  Jason glowered at him as they exited the building.  Nightwing took the opportunity to lean against the wall and fished around in the pockets of his belt before withdrawing a crumpled twenty dollar bill.  “Here,” he offered it to Jason, “Get some chili dogs for us?”</p><p> </p><p>That was an offer Jason wasn’t going to decline.  He snatched the bill and headed for the closest chili dog stand.</p><p> </p><p>When he came back with a warm bag oozing out delicious smells, Nightwing was still upright, but breathing heavily.  He didn’t ask for the change back, and Jason didn’t mention it, instead helping the vigilante hobble through the shadows and back to his apartment.</p><p> </p><p>Jason had a momentary flicker of fear when he let Nightwing inside, but all the vigilante did was stumble the three steps to the couch and sink into it with a pained moan.</p><p> </p><p>“Um,” Jason said, fidgeting, “Can I get you anything?”</p><p> </p><p>“Water,” Nightwing croaked out, “Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason hurried to the kitchen, grateful for something to do.  By the time he unwrapped the chili dogs and brought out the water, Nightwing had gone from sitting to lying down, folded up on their ratty couch and staring up at the ceiling.</p><p> </p><p>“Here,” Jason said, handing over the glass of water – and froze, because Nightwing had removed his mask, revealing an irritated red line around tired blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>He was younger than Jason had been expecting – he couldn’t be more than twenty-five.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Nightwing smiled softly, and extended his hand, “I’m Dick.  Nice to meet you.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason shook the hand before the words caught all the way up.  “Wait, <em>what</em>?  What kind of parents name their kid Dick?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s short for Richard,” Nightwing – <em>Dick</em> answered him cheerfully, taking the glass.  He gulped it down like he hadn’t had water in <em>days</em>, and when he was done, he slumped back with a groan.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s stupid, that’s what it is,” Jason grumbled.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve heard all the jokes, trust me, kid,” Dick laughed, “<em>All of them</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason was pretty sure that hadn’t been <em>intended</em> as a challenge, but Dick’s eyes were glittering and Jason’s competitiveness had been piqued.</p><p> </p><p>He took a bite of the chili dog as he tried to think of some good ones, and nudged the other foil wrapper to Dick.  “Eat,” Jason instructed.</p><p> </p><p>“In a bit,” Dick rasped, his eyes fluttering closed, his face stuck in a pained grimace.  Jason could only see the one wound, but the way Dick was curled up hinted at broken ribs.</p><p> </p><p>“It’ll get cold,” Jason pressed, something icy settling in his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not hungry,” Dick said softly, eyes still squeezed shut, and the picture – sweaty skin, bags under eyes, chewed-red lips, soft, pained gasps – matched Jason’s nightmares.</p><p> </p><p>Jason slowly finished chewing his bite and swallowed it, hoping his stomach wouldn’t rebel.  “You need to eat,” he said, the same half-pleading, half-stern tone he’d used for so long, “You need to get your strength up.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s eyes fluttered open, and he watched Jason silently.</p><p> </p><p>“Eat,” Jason repeated, “<em>Please</em>.  Just one bite.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jay,” Dick said quietly, “If I eat something right now, it’s just going to come back up.”</p><p> </p><p>How many nights had he listened to his mother retching in the bathroom, coming out with tears in her eyes and blood dripping from her nose?  How many times had she foregone food – not for his benefit, but because she couldn’t muster up the will to eat?  How much had she wasted away before the end, till where Jason could count every bone in her body as it jutted against sallow skin?</p><p> </p><p>Jason set down his food and hurried to the bathroom.  There was a small collection of painkillers back there – different prescriptions his mother had tried before she got hooked onto heroin and didn’t stop – and Jason scanned each one until he found a couple that didn’t have loss of appetite as a side effect.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been planning to sell them – rent didn’t come cheap, no one would offer a full-time job to a ten-year-old, and he knew the dealers that would give fair prices for pills – but a few pills wasn’t any great loss.</p><p> </p><p>“I have painkillers,” Jason shoved the bottles at a surprised Dick, who attempted to catch them all before they hit the ground, “One of these should help.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick looked at the bottles, and blinked at him.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re my mom’s,” Jason answered the unasked question, “You’re hurt.  You need them.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s face crinkled.  “Thanks, Jay,” Dick smiled, “But I shouldn’t take your mother’s pills.”  He tried to hand the bottles back, but Jason refused to take them, scowling.</p><p> </p><p>“She won’t mind,” Jason said, “You’re hurt.  She’ll understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” Dick said, face bright, “I don’t need them.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re <em>hurt</em>,” Jason repeated, his voice rising, “You’re hurt and bleeding and you spent a whole day on a roof and I bet you haven’t eaten anything all day.  Just take the stupid pill!”</p><p> </p><p>Dick carefully stacked each bottle on the floor.  “Jay,” he said slowly, “I can’t take someone else’s medication.  They –”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s in the hospital,” Jason said, aware that his voice was climbing pitches, “They’ll just give her a new prescription!  She doesn’t need these pills anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not how it works, Jay –”</p><p> </p><p>Jason picked all the bottles up, and shoved them back into Dick’s arms.  He couldn’t watch the man’s pained face.  Not without remembering his mother.  Not without remembering – they ran out, Jason couldn’t get any more, and his mother was shaking and crying and Jason couldn’t even <em>hug</em> her without her screaming and –</p><p> </p><p>And he’d gone to the streets and found any way he could to get her the stuff –</p><p> </p><p>And then –</p><p> </p><p>And –</p><p> </p><p>“Just take it!” Jason almost screamed, “You’re <em>hurting</em>, just – stop it, stop pretending you’re some stupid hero and take a goddamn pill!”  His eyes were blurring, and he didn’t even know <em>why</em> – he didn’t know Nightwing, he didn’t care about Dick, he didn’t care about the pinched furrow on his face or the rigidity of his jaw or the hundred different tells that taught him about concealing pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Kiddo, these are your <em>mom’s</em>, I can’t –”</p><p> </p><p>“They can’t help her anymore,” Jason cut off hoarsely, withdrawing further into his hoodie and hoping that the tears wouldn’t fall.</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s face was concerned, blue eyes wide and forehead furrowed and when he spoke, his voice was soft and hesitant.  “Jay?” he asked slowly, “Is your mom really in the hospital?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason snapped his head up, choking on a gasp, and burning washed over his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Dick looked worried, anxious, like the teachers who wanted to talk to his parents or the volunteers that eyed him when he walked past the shelter and he <em>knew</em> that someone would figure it out eventually – and Dick was in his <em>home</em> and he’d lose this too, he’d lose the last thing he had of his mother and –</p><p> </p><p>Jason bolted for the door.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He got three blocks away before he stumbled to a halt, hot tears curving down his cheeks, and pressed his back to the coarse brick of an alley as he shook.</p><p> </p><p>Dick <em>knew</em>.  And Jason didn’t know much about capes, but he knew they worked <em>with</em> the cops, so Dick had probably already called CPS.  They would be at his home, and they’d find out that Mom was dead and Dad was in jail and – and they’d take Jason <em>away</em>, and Jason knew what happened to kids in the system.</p><p> </p><p>Living in Crime Alley was rough.  But he’d had a Mom and Dad that <em>protected</em> him, and every gang knew that messing with a kid that had parents was not a good idea.  Especially not when there were so many unattached ones out there.</p><p> </p><p>He wished he could’ve gotten his stuff.  Some clothes.  Food.  His money.  The picture of his mom and him at a fair.  The last Mother’s Day card he’d made her, the one she cried over and stuck to the refrigerator.  The <em>tire iron</em>, at least.</p><p> </p><p>But he needed a head start more than all those things.</p><p> </p><p>Jason roughly wiped at his face and headed for the mouth of the alley – he needed to find a place to hole up for the night, and bawling like a baby wouldn’t help.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, the moment he stepped back onto the street, he was spotted by the same two idiots that had been following him yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>Jason cursed and spun on his heel, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the shout of recognition.  “Hey,” one of them called out, “It’s that kid with the cash!”</p><p> </p><p><em>Shit</em>.  Jason <em>ran</em>, but heavy, pounding footsteps followed behind him, and a hand closed around his arm before he managed to take an alley shortcut.  Jason allowed himself to be pulled with the movement, and used his momentum to ram an elbow in the guy’s gut.</p><p> </p><p>The guy left go, coughing, and Jason twisted back – the other guy tried to grab him, and Jason kicked out at his kneecap and the guy howled in pain.  Jason turned to flee –</p><p> </p><p>And was halted by the <em>click</em> of a gun.</p><p> </p><p>“Move,” Thug No. 1 said, raspy, “And I’ll blow your brains out.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason swallowed, and let the guy fist a hand in the collar of his hoodie and slam him back against the brick wall.</p><p> </p><p>“Where’s the money, brat?” Thug No. 2 said as the gun pressed painfully against his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cut the crap, kid,” Trigger Happy snarled, trying to use the gun as a drill, “We know you got some cash.  Tell us where it is, or we’ll take it out your hide.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason flitted his gaze between the two of them.  “At – at home,” he said, working a stutter into his voice – the cops were probably already at the apartment, and besides, Jason wasn’t <em>lying</em>.  “I – I don’t –”</p><p> </p><p>A finger closed around the gun’s trigger.  “Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe that?” the guy scoffed, “A kid like you is always carrying some cash around.”</p><p> </p><p>Thug No. 2 was looking at Jason in the kind of speculation that made him want to take five showers.  “We can always search him,” he suggested, quiet and dark.</p><p> </p><p>Trigger Happy looked like he was seriously considering the idea.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you!” Jason snarled, bucking against the grip.  He’d done a <em>lot</em> of things to get money to help his mother, but there was one thing he swore he wouldn’t do.  “Get off me!  I don’t have any fucking money, you –”</p><p> </p><p>Jason broke off as something moved in the shadows.  Darkness.  A flicker of blue.  A mask.</p><p> </p><p>The thugs followed his gaze and turned, blinking at the newcomer.  “You’re not the Bat,” the stupider of the two said, frowning at the sleek costume, the blue bird symbol, and the long…batons?</p><p> </p><p>The batons crackled with blue sparks of electricity.  “No,” Nightwing smiled, “I’m not.”</p><p> </p><p>Trigger Happy was smart enough to turn the gun on the greater threat, but not smart enough to shoot immediately.  The baton hit his hand so hard that several things cracked, and dull whine of electricity after sent the guy into gurgled screams.</p><p> </p><p>The second one had clearly decided to abandon his friend – Bat-honed instincts serving them well – and Jason watched in no small amount of awe as Nightwing, injured and wobbly and in significant pain, managed to take down his adversary so fluidly it felt choreographed.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing still looked like the sun.  But the sun was also a flaming ball of gas in the middle of space, hot enough to disintegrate, and every ounce of that threat was laced into that smile.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing turned towards him, and the smile softened to something less…terrifying.  “Jay,” he said quietly, taking a hobbling step towards him, “Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason hadn’t heard someone sound so concerned about him since his mother died.</p><p> </p><p>Jason hadn’t heard someone sound so concerned about him since before his mother got lost in the haze of drugs.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t stop the tears slipping down his face, and Nightwing’s expression shifted to sudden alarm.  “Are you hurt?” Nightwing said worriedly, holstering his batons and stepping closer to Jason, “Did they –”</p><p> </p><p>The moment Nightwing was close enough to reach, Jason lunged forward and buried his head in the man’s costume, wrapping his arms around him.  He heard Nightwing’s startled, harsh wheeze and then realized that that was probably not the brightest idea.  “I’m sorry,” Jason said through hitched breaths, “I – I forgot you were hurt, I’m sorry –”</p><p> </p><p>“Shh, it’s okay,” Nightwing said, his voice slightly strained, and he tugged Jason down until they were both crouching on the ground.  Jason flung his arms around Nightwing’s neck this time, burying his face into his shoulder, and cried even harder when Nightwing’s arms slowly wrapped around his back.  “It’s okay, Jay,” Nightwing murmured, “They won’t hurt you again.”</p><p> </p><p>His voice dropped to something lower, something fiercer, “I <em>promise</em>.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nightwing held Jason until he’d exhausted all his tears, and rubbed his back as Jason tried to regain control of his hitched breaths.  The two thugs were left groaning and twitching in the alley, and Jason didn’t protest as Nightwing gently steered them back to his apartment.</p><p> </p><p>To his surprise, no cops or social workers were waiting for them, and Dick merely made a muted groan as he sank back onto the couch and peeled off his mask.</p><p> </p><p>Jason peered into the bedroom, but there was no one waiting to ambush him.  He drifted back towards the couch, and squinted at Dick.</p><p> </p><p>Dick noticed after a solid ten seconds of staring, and raised an eyebrow, his expression twisting into a half-scowl to do so.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t call the cops,” Jason said finally.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have a phone,” Dick yawned, “<em>You</em> don’t have a phone.  And besides, I’m tired.  Those two guys can learn their lesson with some broken bones this time.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Jason frowned, “I meant for me.”  Dick looked confused.  “That – that my mom’s dead.  You didn’t call them.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s face brightened in comprehension, and then fell in sorrow.  “I know what Gotham’s foster care system is like,” he said, and there was a bite in his voice that was all too real, “I’m not going to send you into its jaws.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh.  Jason had the sudden urge to fling himself into Dick’s arms to get another one of those hugs, shaky in sudden relief, but Dick’s face was pinched and wan and Jason slowly shuffled back to the pill bottles.  He held them up wordlessly, and Dick made a face.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Jason said softly, “You’re hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighed, and Jason pressed his advantage.  He dumped all the bottles in Dick’s lap, and Dick sorted through each of them, carefully reading the labels before keeping it or placing it aside.  Finally, he settled on over-the-counter ibuprofen.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not supposed to take that on an empty stomach,” Jason said, trying to cover up the tiny curl of relief.  Dick was in a not-inconsiderable amount of pain, and while one of the prescription painkillers would’ve definitely helped more, Jason knew where that road led.</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighed again, but he reached for the now-cold chili dog and carefully broke it into half, offering Jason the other piece.  Jason took the compromise, accepting the chili dog and sitting on the couch.  He gave it a few seconds before he shifted, curling against Dick’s uninjured side.</p><p> </p><p>Dick smiled at him, and rested a casual arm around his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere in the midst of eating and taking the pill and washing it down with water, Dick’s fingers had migrated to his hair, running through it and gently tugging on the ends, and the repetitive motion lulled Jason to sleep.  His head drooped against Nightwing’s shoulder and, when there was no complaint, he decided it was too heavy to lift up again.</p><p><br/>
The fingers were soft and soothing, and they were joined by a low, lilting song in a language Jason didn’t recognize, and before he realized it, darkness had cocooned him in a warm embrace.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jason woke up with his head resting on someone’s lap.  <em>Mom</em>, he thought drowsily, before remembering that his mother’s legs had been far bonier.  Before remembering that his mother was dead.</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> jolted him the rest of the way awake, and Jason scrambled up to meet Dick’s teasing smile.  “Have a good night’s sleep, Jay?” Dick laughed softly, and the sound was so much brighter with some of the pain lines on his forehead relaxed.</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s cheeks burned – he’d prided himself on his survival instincts, and he fell asleep on a <em>stranger</em>.</p><p> </p><p>A stranger who had saved him twice.</p><p> </p><p>A stranger who’d hugged him and sung him a song.</p><p> </p><p>A stranger who was giving Jason a twinkling smile, soft and amused – almost like his mother on one of her good days, when she would nudge a grouchy Jason out of bed with kisses and tickles and have waffles waiting on the counter once he brushed his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want waffles?” Jason asked abruptly.</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s eyebrows raised, but he nodded, still amused.  Jason got off the couch and headed to the kitchen to get everything ready, Dick following at a slower pace.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you like waffles?” Jason asked as he got out the flour.  Dick had taken a seat at the kitchen table and was watching him with idle curiosity.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re okay,” Dick said, tilting his head to one side, “My little sister loves them, so she makes them a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s heart sank.  He busied himself with the batter, cracking eggs with ease and adding them in.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have a big family?” he asked, still turned away from Dick.</p><p> </p><p>Dick laughed, though Jason didn’t know what was so funny.  “Oh, yes,” he said, “I have my fair share of siblings.”</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose they’re missing you,” he said to the batter.</p><p> </p><p>“Probably,” Dick said, his chuckles dying, “I don’t know how long it’ll take me to go home, though.”  When Jason turned, he caught Dick staring at his watch, his face drawn into a frown.</p><p> </p><p>Jason cast around for something to change the topic.  “When you met me, you said I reminded you of someone,” Jason said, casting a curious glance at Dick, “Who?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick had gone tense, but looked like he was doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t.  “Jay,” he said softly, “My little brother.”</p><p> </p><p>Christ on a cracker, how many siblings did the guy have?</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Jason said, mixing the batter perhaps more thoroughly than required, “How is he doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Dick hummed, “He was ranting about book-to-movie adaptations the last time I saw him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Book-to-movie adaptations suck all the fun out of the book,” Jason replied automatically.  Something spasmed across Dick’s face before he drew out a wavering smile and raised his hands in surrender.</p><p> </p><p>“How many waffles do you want?” Jason asked roughly – Dick had a whole family waiting for him, and he wasn’t even <em>from</em> Gotham.  Dick would leave, like everyone else left, and Jason had to be grateful for what he had – Dick had saved him, and hadn’t called the cops, which meant that Jason had a roof over his head for a little while longer.</p><p> </p><p>“Two?” Dick said, and Jason plated the first one before sliding it over.  Dick dug in with gusto and numerous appreciative noises.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Jason said as he poured in the batter for the second waffle, “How long are you staying in Gotham?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick scowled at his watch again.  “I’m not sure,” he sighed, “My transport needs to be arranged.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason didn’t know why the guy couldn’t just take off his mask, put on a coat, and take the train to Bludhaven.  Capes were weird.</p><p> </p><p>“And you don’t have anywhere to stay?” Jason checked.</p><p> </p><p>“Nope,” Dick exhaled.</p><p> </p><p>Jason chewed his lip.  He was having trouble making this month’s rent, and Dick hadn’t <em>done</em> anything to him – sure, he was injured, but capes were supposed to be the good guys, right?  His mom had always told him that Batman would protect him, even if he got caught running drugs, because Batman didn’t hurt kids.</p><p> </p><p>“You can stay here if you want,” Jason shrugged, overly casual, busying himself with the wafflemaker, “You can pay half-rent.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence greeted him, and Jason resisted the urge to raise his shoulders.  He turned – had Dick already <em>left</em>? – and met the older man’s level gaze.</p><p> </p><p>He was staring at Jason like he was a puzzle, face blank but eyes focused, and Jason fought the urge to shiver.  Finally, Dick smiled – like the sun peeking out of the clouds.  “That sounds great, Jay, thank you,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“You need to pay half-rent, though,” Jason warned.  Scrounging up only half the rent would be much easier than the full thing, and then Jason could pay the gas bill this time.</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely,” Dick said, smiling bright.</p><p> </p><p>It was temporary, and Jason just needed the grace period before he looked old enough that restaurants and mechanic shops would agree to hire him off the books.  He had the space, and he needed the money.  If he sold the rest of the pills and hid the valuables, Dick would have nothing to steal, either.  It was a win-win.</p><p> </p><p>Jason found that he couldn’t resist returning the smile with a quiet one of his own.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jason finished his work a little early, and walked inside the apartment to see Dick pacing, his hair sticking up like he’d run his fingers through it several times, and a half-crazed look in his eyes – a gaze he immediately turned on Jason when he stepped inside.</p><p> </p><p>“Everything okay?” Jason asked warily, scanning the room.  Nothing seemed to be out of place.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine,” Dick said, his smile strained, “I didn’t realize you’d be back so late.  I was just worried.”  He darted a quick look at his watch, and winced.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Jason frowned, “Sorry.”  He fell back on the couch and let himself bounce.  “Anything interesting happen?”</p><p> </p><p>Another look at the watch.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Dick said, and then immediately followed that up with, “Maybe.”  He winced.  “Potentially?” he tried.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, what’s up?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick took a deep breath and let it out, equally slowly.  He glanced at his watch, and made a face.  “Okay,” Dick said levelly, “You’re good at removing tires, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason half-shrugged.  “I’m practicing,” he said, “I could be better.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Dick said, clearly ignoring his answer, “I…might’ve found us a car.  The tires will rake in a lot of cash.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason, very slowly, raised an eyebrow.  “You <em>want</em> me to steal tires?” Jason asked incredulously, “I thought you were supposed to be a vigilante.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” Dick said solemnly, “This is for the greater good.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason wasn’t sure how stealing tires was in anyway good, but maybe they were mob tires or something.  Which was a problem of its own, Jason didn’t want some gang chasing after him.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the car?” Jason asked, wondering what kind of tires fetched ‘a lot of cash’.  He’d managed to get paid at pretty standard rates so far, considering he brought in a tire at a time.</p><p> </p><p>With an accomplice, he could get more than one tire.  And Dick was too injured to double-cross him, so maybe –</p><p> </p><p>“The Batmobile.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason choked.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Excuse me</em>?” he spluttered once he finally managed to regain his breath, “You want to steal tires from <em>Batman</em>?  Are you out of your fucking mind?  He’ll <em>murder </em>us –”</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t hurt kids,” Dick said firmly.  Ah, so <em>that</em> was what he was after – Jason was supposed to play human shield.</p><p> </p><p>Jason ignored the curl of betrayal in his gut and stepped forward, narrowing his eyes, “He’s <em>Batman</em>.  He’ll find us anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not if we get rid of the tires quickly,” Dick shrugged, unconcerned.</p><p> </p><p>“He will!  He’ll be furious!  He’ll tear the city apart trying to –”</p><p> </p><p>“He won’t,” Dick rolled his eyes, “The guy’s <em>rich</em>, he won’t care about a couple of tires.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason stared at him, his heart pounding.  “Tell me,” he said, his words tasting like fury and fear and disappointment, “That this isn’t some stupid cape vendetta.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick immediately looked mournful.  “No, Jay, it’s nothing like that,” he said softly, “I just – I wanted to find a way to cover the expenses.”  He knelt down until he could look Jason in the eyes.  “Trust me?” he asked, wide-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>Jason scowled.  “I don’t trust you,” he snapped, and Dick’s expression cracked.  Jason tried to tell himself that he didn’t feel guilt, and hardened his heart – if Dick thought the offer of being roommates meant Jason would allow him to push him around, then he was going to discover how <em>else</em> Jason could use a tire iron.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Dick said quietly, “I’m sorry.  I’ll find a different way to get money.”  He looked at his watch, and his whole face sort of crumpled.</p><p> </p><p>Jason had effectively trapped him, hadn’t he – there was no way Dick could find a legal way to make money, not without revealing his identity, and he was too injured to go find some minimum-wage labor that didn’t ask too many questions, and Dick had found Jason an opportunity all wrapped up in a bow, and Jason shot him down entirely.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Jason muttered gruffly, “We’ll go after the goddamn Batmobile.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick blinked at him, “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Even if I get beat up, I would’ve still managed to steal Batman’s tires,” Jason shrugged, and went to go get ready, “How many people can say that?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick made an odd, half-choked laugh, but accompanied Jason with a smile.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Jay,” Nightwing said suddenly.  Jason gave him a quizzical look – they were passing through the East End on their hunt for the Batmobile, and Nightwing had surprisingly kept up the pace.  “Can you remember something for me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Nightwing said, and took a deep breath, “Just – just don’t forget, okay?”  He glanced at his watch again.</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t,” Jason said, frowning.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing took another deep breath and exhaled quickly.  “Sheila Haywood is working for the Joker,” he said quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Jason waited, but that was apparently the whole message.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he said, “I got it.  Sheila Haywood is working for the Joker.”  Jason wondered if it was supposed to be Nightwing’s get-out-of-jail card, everyone knew that Batman always appreciated info on the Joker’s movements.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing exhaled so heavily he nearly slumped.  “Thanks, Jay,” he smiled, looking like a weight was off his back, “Now onto the Batmobile!”</p><p> </p><p>Jason shushed him, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face as they crept through the streets.  True to Nightwing’s word, the Batmobile was sitting in an alley near a nice apartment complex.  Jason eyed the building, but this was Gotham – anyone with any sense kept their mouths shut and their blinds closed.  Especially if it was Bat business.</p><p> </p><p>“How are we doing this?” Jason asked, eyeing the car and eyeing Nightwing – the walk had taken a lot out of him, he was breathing shallowly again.  “One on each side?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds good,” Nightwing said hoarsely, and Jason went to jack up the car.</p><p> </p><p>Jason still had to kick at the tire iron to get the bolts to unstick, and it took a sweaty, cursing five minutes before it loosened up enough for him to get to work.  A few minutes later, he finally had the tire off.</p><p> </p><p>No alarms, electric shocks, or looming capes.  This could actually work.</p><p> </p><p>Which was, of course, when Jason realized that he hadn’t heard anything from Nightwing in a while.</p><p> </p><p>“Nightwing?” Jason hissed, cautiously peering around the car, behind him, and up for good measure.  No rustling cape in sight.  He edged to the other side of the car.  “Nightwing?”</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing was on the ground, his breaths low and shallow, curled up in a small ball.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Nightwing</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing made a small, choked sound and Jason frantically pulled him onto his back, searching for injuries and checking to make sure his wound hadn’t reopened.  “Nightwing,” Jason hissed, “What happened?  Are you okay?  We need to get you to a hospital –”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Nightwing shook his head weakly, “No hospitals.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason wanted to shake the man.  Jason wanted to <em>cry</em>.  “You might <em>die</em> if you don’t, you stubborn fool!” Jason snarled, “We don’t – you can’t – you need actual help – you need to –”</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing raised his hand to check his watch, and Jason wanted to grab his shoulders and scream.  “Not much time left,” he said quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Jason felt a chill run through him at the words.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Jason said, clutching his shoulders, “No – no, you’re not leaving – you can’t go – you have to <em>fight</em> –”</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing raised a wavering hand and brushed a lock of hair out of his face, smiling softly.  “Thank you for everything, Jay,” he said, and Jason’s eyes started burning.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Jason said, his voice cracking, “You’re not <em>dying</em> –” Jason couldn’t do this again, he <em>couldn’t</em>, stupid Nightwing, stupid Dick, stupid Jason for getting fucking <em>attached</em> – he knew everyone always left him, he <em>knew</em> it, and Dick had to literally appear out of nowhere and –</p><p> </p><p>“Remember what I told you,” Nightwing murmured, his hand slipping off of Jason’s face, “And stay out of trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nightwing – Dick – <em>no</em> – please –”</p><p> </p><p>A loud, screeching noise, so awful it tore into Jason’s head and he had to clasp his hands over his ears, his eyes watering as he saw Dick’s fractured smile and –</p><p> </p><p>And nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing had disappeared into thin air.</p><p> </p><p>Jason stared at the empty spot for a long moment, stunned, before reality trickled in.</p><p> </p><p>Nightwing was <em>gone</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Jason murmured, and then again, louder, “No!”  His cry rose to a scream, “<em>No</em>!”  Tears slipped down his face, and he didn’t even care about them anymore, he scrabbled at the asphalt, but there was no trace of the man, no sign that he hadn’t been a figment of Jason’s imagination.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing around him but the half-stripped car, no hint of black-and-blue lurking in the shadows, nothing to indicate that Dick had ever been there.</p><p> </p><p>“Come back,” Jason whispered, “Please, <em>please</em> come back –” he should’ve taken Dick to a hospital that first night, he was so <em>stupid</em> – “You can’t leave me, you – you said you’d stay, you <em>can’t</em> –”</p><p> </p><p>His voice broke into furious sobs and Jason pressed his fingers against empty ground and <em>cried</em> – this was even worse than his mother, because he still had the chance to hold her, to curl fingers into her cold hand and pet her hair before the ambulance had arrived, and now he was left with <em>nothing</em> – and maybe it had just been a cruel dream the whole time, maybe his mind was torturing him – and he <em>didn’t know</em> because no one had seen Nightwing except him.</p><p> </p><p>Jason wiped his face but the tears kept falling, hot and thick and choking, and he wanted to curl up and cry and remember that warm, encompassing hug and –</p><p> </p><p>A rustling sound.</p><p> </p><p>And no Nightwing to protect him.  Jason scrambled upright, his fingers searching for the tire iron, as he turned, ready to swing, looking up –</p><p> </p><p>And up.</p><p> </p><p>And <em>up</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Jason made a small whimper.  He’d been crying next to the <em>Batmobile</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Batman stared down at him, every inch the dark, silent terror.  And that was a lot of inches.  Jason backed up, nearly banging his head against the fancy car, and gripped the tire iron tightly.  He couldn’t take on Batman and win – but Nightwing had said that Batman didn’t hurt kids, so maybe –</p><p> </p><p>Wait a minute.</p><p> </p><p>“What did you do to him?” Jason demanded, pushing himself off the ground, “Give him back!”</p><p> </p><p>“Who?” Batman growled, and Jason set his face into a snarl.</p><p> </p><p>He swung the tire iron – Batman caught the movement, and tore the weapon from Jason’s hands, but Jason just fell back to using his fists.  “Give him back!” Jason shouted, flailing as Batman picked him up by the hoodie, “You stole him, I know you did, it’s just a stupid <em>tire</em>, give him back!”</p><p> </p><p>“Calm down,” Batman growled, “Who are you talking about?”  Like he didn’t know, the <em>bastard</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Jason kicked out, and inhaled sharply when Batman used the movement to grab his shoulders, forcing his arms to his side.</p><p> </p><p>Batman didn’t hurt kids.</p><p> </p><p>But looking up at a six foot monster made of shadows and darkness, Jason wasn’t willing to put his faith in a rumor.</p><p> </p><p>“B, you’re scaring him,” a higher voice chirped from above him, and Jason couldn’t manage to pause his high, fluttering breaths to see who the newcomer was.  But the steel bands around his arms let go, and Jason’s knees had turned to jelly somewhere in the interval, because he promptly fell back onto the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Jason scrambled back, only stopping when his back hit the car, and curled up into a small ball.  If he tucked his face in and protected his stomach, it wouldn’t hurt so much.  “Give him back,” Jason pleaded, his words stuttering.  He had to <em>try.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Give who back?” the softer voice asked, and Jason warily uncurled, just enough to see the new speaker.</p><p> </p><p>Red, green, and yellow was pretty distinctive.  “R-Robin,” Jason said through a hiccupping breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, kid,” Robin smiled – there was something familiar about that smile.  “Did someone go missing?  Were you looking for us?”</p><p> </p><p>“One and a half tires off,” Batman’s growl floated from somewhere.</p><p> </p><p>“He – he <em>disappeared</em>,” Jason said, glancing at the road again, like it contained some clue to Nightwing’s whereabouts.  “There was a loud sound, like nails on a chalkboard, and he was <em>gone</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Batman appeared in his periphery again, some weird device in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll try to find him,” Robin soothed, “Is he your dad?  Are your parents around?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s lip wobbled.  “He’s my brother,” he said, the words spilling out, “My parents aren’t around – he’s my older brother – he just <em>vanished</em> –”</p><p> </p><p>“Evidence of time magic,” Batman said roughly.</p><p> </p><p><em>Time</em> <em>magic</em>?  What the hell?</p><p> </p><p>Though, Jason supposed that if aliens and fish people were real, magic wasn’t <em>that</em> crazy.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, can you describe him for me?  What’s his name?” Robin asked, gentle and cheerful.</p><p> </p><p>“Nightwing,” Jason said, “I mean, Dick.”  If the choice was between a revealed identity and being lost in time, Jason knew what <em>he’d</em> pick.  “He’s…twenty-four?” Jason estimated.</p><p> </p><p>In front of him, Robin had gone very, <em>very</em> still.</p><p> </p><p>Batman went from hovering in his periphery to looming behind Robin, his presence dark and wrathful.  “What did you say?” he growled.</p><p> </p><p>“His name is Dick,” Jason repeated, his voice wavering, “He’s a vigilante who goes by Nightwing.  He’s twenty-four.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a long, stretching period of silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Time magic,” Robin said softly.  Abruptly, he leapt up, jumping on top of the Batmobile to get to the other side, leaving Jason alone with a brooding Batman.</p><p> </p><p>Jason shrank back against the car, huddling into his hoodie.  Robin was back before he could count to twenty, holding a small sketchbook, which he immediately pressed into Jason’s hands.  “Tell me if you recognize any of those,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>Jason shot him a wary glance, but flipped through the book – they seemed to be doodles of costume designs, and Jason dutifully glanced at each one before turning the page, and –</p><p> </p><p>A bird, shaded lighter than the dark costume around it.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s it!” Jason said, shoving the sketch at Robin, “That’s the design on Nightwing’s suit!  Do you know him?  Do you know where he is?”</p><p> </p><p>Robin looked at the design, and then back at him, staring at him with an intensity that was unnerving through the whiteout lenses.</p><p> </p><p>“Robin,” Batman said, in what was definitely a warning tone, but Robin didn’t acknowledge him.</p><p> </p><p>“This is a book of my costume ideas,” Robin said quietly, “Sometimes bright colors don’t work for everything.”</p><p> </p><p>Okay, but what did this have to do with Nightwing?  Was Robin taking inspiration from him?  Would someone just <em>tell him </em>where Nightwing was?</p><p> </p><p>“Nightwing is a bird from Kryptonian legend,” Robin continued, “Uncle Clark told me the story.”  Batman made an abortive growl.  “It’s a cool name, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason stared at him.  The tension was so thick it was beginning to chafe.</p><p> </p><p>Robin reached up…and peeled off his domino mask.  He smiled, blue eyes lighting up, and Jason’s breath caught in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” Robin said, holding out his hand, “I’m Dick Grayson.  It’s nice to meet you.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason stared at him.  At a face that was years younger than when he saw it last, but still very, very familiar.  At the uncommon name – and he <em>knew</em> that name, wasn’t that the circus kid Bruce Wayne had adopted?</p><p> </p><p>He’d called him Jay.</p><p> </p><p>He’d bought him chili dogs.</p><p> </p><p>He’d known about his <em>mom</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He’d placed Jason deliberately in the path of Batman and Robin.</p><p> </p><p>He said Jason reminded him of his little brother.</p><p> </p><p>He said he didn’t know how to get home.</p><p> </p><p>He said he was running out of <em>time</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Dick?” Jason asked weakly.  Robin nodded, still smiling.</p><p> </p><p>That meant – that meant that Nightwing hadn’t <em>disappeared</em>.  That meant that Dick wasn’t <em>gone</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Jason could feel something crack inside of him, splintering through the wall he’d forced up after his mom’s death, and it was too thin, too weak, too brittle to hold up to the fissures.</p><p> </p><p>He lunged forward – and it was the same exact hug, warm without being suffocating, tight and firm and <em>protective</em>, and Jason buried his head into Robin’s costume and shook as the tears dripped down his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Jason choked on the sob, “Please don’t leave me, <em>please</em> –” he couldn’t go back to the cold apartment after this, not after seeing <em>what could’ve been</em> – “Please don’t make me go –” oh <em>no</em>, what if Batman called CPS?  What if Robin <em>let him</em> take Jason away – even though Dick <em>knew</em> what the system was like, Jason had seen it in his eyes, what if Robin would leave Jason there because why would he want to be brothers with some random kid from Crime Alley –</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Never</em>,” Robin – Dick said, murmuring the words into his hair, “We’re not leaving you.  You’re my brother now, and I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason shuddered, and the tears fell faster, but this time they tasted like relief.</p><p> </p><p>Dick rocked him gently, a gloved hand softly stroking through his hair, and started singing a quiet melody.  Jason still couldn’t understand the words, but he memorized the sounds of them as he held onto his new big brother.</p><p> </p><p>There was a rustle of the cape and Jason darted a glance up, his stomach twisting – Robin wanted him, but Batman could still send him away, could still –</p><p> </p><p>A heavy cape dropped around his shoulders, draping him in warmth, and Jason felt his limbs relax as he curled closer to Dick.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>In another dimension…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Did you just <em>con</em> me into getting adopted?!”</p><p> </p><p>“You know there were, like, a hundred ways you could’ve alerted Bruce without having Jason steal the tires.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was feeling sentimental, sue me!”</p><p> </p><p>“You were injured, Richard, you should not have exerted yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“And isn’t Bruce always warning us of the consequences of meddling in other dimensions?”</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t just <em>leave</em> poor little Jaybird all alone!”</p><p> </p><p>“You call me <em>poor little Jaybird</em> one more time, and I’ll cut your vocal cords.  And if you liked the little brat so much, you should’ve stayed with him!”</p><p> </p><p>“Somebody’s <em>jealous</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Being envious of your own younger self is pitiful and illogical.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aww, Little Wing, no, I wanted to help out the kid but <em>you’re</em> my little brother!”</p><p> </p><p>“Get off me – I don’t want a hug – Dick, <em>you asshole</em> –”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dick, staring at Jason: …so my future self dropped off a little kid for us?<br/><em>Five seconds later…</em><br/>Dick, hugging Jason: *hisses* if anyone so much as lays a finger on my Jaybird, I’m going to cut their whole hand off!<br/>Bruce and Alfred, watching on in pride: that’s our boy.</p><p>In this universe, thanks to Jason’s tip, Batman looks into Sheila Haywood much, much earlier, and discovers that she’s Jason’s birth mom.  Jason feels horrible for a little while, but ultimately ignores it because he has his own fiercely protective Mama Bird.</p><p>In this universe, Dick does not get into a loud argument with Bruce and storm away from home, because there’s a twelve-year-old kid who’s imprinted on him and he has to set a good example.  (Bruce is not above using this argument in pointing out the virtues of a college education.)</p><p>In this universe, Dick passes the Robin mantle to Jason when he’s ready, and tells him about the special meaning behind the name.  Jason nearly bursts into tears then and there, Bruce’s eyes are suspiciously shiny, and Alfred has to dot at his eyes with a handkerchief.</p><p>(In this universe, Jason tells them about the little sister that likes waffles, so Dick promptly adopts Spoiler the moment they find out her favorite food.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Red Hood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, this takes place in the same universe as the last one.</p><p>Content warning: kidnapping, non-graphic murder of unnamed background characters (Hood being Hood).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Tim scrambled to the edge of the rooftop and set his camera up with fumbling fingers.  It was just starting to get cold outside, and he rubbed his gloved hands fiercely before crouching behind the small ledge and peering through the camera lens.</p><p> </p><p>He had a beautiful view of downtown Gotham, almost-full moon just rising above the skyscrapers and looming over the twinkling lights of the city.  He wouldn’t be able to spot Batman like this, and Robin would blend in with all the colors, but he took a few pictures of the scenic skyline and waited for the sight of a grapple line extending between buildings.</p><p> </p><p>There was a <em>new</em> Robin – the costume had changed only slightly, but this Robin was smaller and stockier, and Batman had been joined by a slender figure in blue and black that called himself Nightwing.  Tim had been so excited – he’d been wondering if Jason would ever take a vigilante role, but it made sense that they wanted to wait until he was a little older.</p><p> </p><p>Tim was fascinated with the shift in their patrols – Robin II made a point of swinging by Crime Alley and checking up on the street kids and the sex workers and while he wasn’t as cheerful and energetic as Dick Grayson, he had an unfailing ability to make people smile.</p><p> </p><p>Tim felt proud that he got to watch Jason’s debut.  <em>And</em> that he’d been doing this longer than the second Robin – maybe he’d take the chance to get a little closer to Jason, to tell this Robin all the things he’d been far too intimidated to tell the first Robin, the secrets and gossip and hints he picked out climbing all over the city streets.</p><p> </p><p>Because Jason <em>got</em> it.  He understood what the streets were like.  And Tim was so happy that Jason got a family – the <em>best</em> family – and Tim ruthlessly suppressed that train of thought before it could lead somewhere he didn’t want it to go.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes – just sometimes – he wondered what it would be like to be Bruce Wayne’s kid.</p><p> </p><p>But that was just a stupid daydream.  Batman had better things to do than babysit a ten-year-old, and besides, Tim was fine on his own.  Case in point, he’d been walking the streets of Gotham at night for a <em>year</em> now, without a grapple line or fancy costumes or a Batmobile, and he hadn’t even been mugged <em>once</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He’d picked up some self-defense moves, and he had a can of pepper spray, and he was careful.  Maybe Robin would even be impressed, and teach him some tricks – like how they managed to scale buildings without a grapple, Tim was very interested in learning that, not all the buildings had fire escapes and there was one in particular that had a <em>great</em> view of the docks –</p><p> </p><p>There was a loud crackle, like a static shock, and then what sounded like fingernails dragging down chalkboard.  Tim had to step away from his camera and clap his hands to his ears as the awful sound grated in his bones.</p><p> </p><p>It ended as suddenly as it had started, and Tim warily peeked over the ledge.</p><p> </p><p>Loud grumbling, a sudden exclamation – <em>bang bang bang</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tim watched, frozen to the spot, as a man slowly collapsed to the floor.  The other figure, a guy almost as big as Batman with a modified red helmet, lowered his gun.</p><p> </p><p>The guy was dead.  Just like that.  Between one instant and the next, he had three bullet wounds, body still and crumpled.</p><p> </p><p>“Piece of shit,” Red Helmet snarled, “I should’ve cut off your hands first.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim didn’t know what he did, but he must’ve made some sort of sound, because Red Helmet’s face snapped up, white-eyed gaze locking on him.</p><p> </p><p>Oh <em>crap</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tim yanked away from the ledge, grabbing his camera and hurriedly packing it away – any moment now, he was going to hear the guy trying to scale up the building, or shoot at him, or – or –</p><p> </p><p>Tim needed to get away, he needed to hide – maybe he’d find a convenient dumpster, he’d done it before, and lay there quietly until Red Helmet forgot about him.  The guy couldn’t have gotten a good look at him, and Tim was wearing a dark hoodie.</p><p> </p><p>He scrambled down the fire escape, trying to be quiet, hoping that Red Helmet hadn’t rounded the building yet – maybe Tim had spooked him, maybe he’d run.  He wouldn’t want to be caught red-handed at the scene of a murder.  He probably didn’t even know that Tim was a kid.</p><p> </p><p>Tim let go of the last level of the fire escape and absorbed the impact by bending his knees, not bothering to use the ladder – turn into the next street and find a dumpster?  Hide in a corner?  Or use the one right in front of him, five steps away –</p><p> </p><p>“Stop,” a distorted voice said behind him, “Or I shoot.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim froze.</p><p> </p><p>“Turn around,” the voice demanded.</p><p> </p><p>His heart was racing, banging frantically on his ribs like it was demanding to be allowed to escape before he got shot.  Tim slowly raised his hands, his skin prickling, and shuffled around.</p><p> </p><p>Red Helmet had a gun in his hand, but it was pointing at the floor.  Tim kept his hands up, just in case.</p><p> </p><p>“Give me your backpack.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim wished that his can of pepper spray wasn’t in his pocket, too far to reach – not that it would’ve been all that effective, this guy had a full-face helmet.  He slowly slipped the backpack off of his shoulders, careful not to make any sudden movements, but before he could hold it out, Red Helmet stalked forward and grabbed it out of his hands.</p><p> </p><p>He crouched to examine its contents, gun still in one hand, and Tim warily shifted on the balls of his feet.  He could maybe make a run for it while the guy was distracted – he’d have to leave the camera behind, but that was already a lost cause, he might as well save himself – but Red Helmet straightened with the camera in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Tim desperately tried to remember if he had anything incriminating on it.  He’d taken only skyline shots today and yesterday – but the day before that, he’d gotten an amazing photo of Robin and Batman on the rooftop of the police station, and before that he’d heard some guys talking and had taken careful pictures of the faces of a gang of drug dealers standing around a map.</p><p> </p><p>But he’d taken those photos for printing and deleted them from the memory card, and he’d done that <em>before</em> he’d gone to the police station, so the earliest pictures on the camera should be from the day before yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>Red Helmet’s gloved fingers tightened on the camera.  Tim swallowed as he raised the gun, but he holstered it instead of waving it in Tim’s direction.</p><p> </p><p>Before Tim could take advantage of this opportunity and <em>run</em>, Red Helmet stepped forward and grabbed his chin, yanking the hood off and tilting Tim’s face up.</p><p> </p><p>Tim stopped breathing.  The grip on his jaw was immovable, and all he could do was stare into the white lenses of the red helmet.  His limbs were beginning to tremble.  He could feel his eyes prickling.  That grip just had to shift a little lower to choke him out.</p><p> </p><p>Red Helmet let go and took a step back.  “Huh,” he said, scanning both ends of the alleyway before glancing down at his wrist and a weird, oddly-shaped watch that didn’t seem to match the rest of his leather-jacket-guns-armor ensemble.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” Red Helmet repeated, in the tone of voice that suggested that he’d meant to substitute a stronger word.</p><p> </p><p>Tim begged his legs to unfreeze.  He needed to run – Red Helmet wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t pointing the gun at him, <em>this was his chance</em> – but his body refused to so much as twitch.</p><p> </p><p>Red Helmet looked back at the camera, picked the backpack up, and offered both back to Tim.  Tim took them with trembling fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“This city isn’t safe at night,” Red Helmet said, slowly and precisely, “Go home, kid.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim clutched the backpack and camera close.  He still couldn’t move his legs.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice pictures, though,” Red Helmet said offhandedly.</p><p> </p><p>Tim blinked.  “Really?” he said, his voice almost turning into a squeak.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Red Helmet said easily, “You’ve got an eye, kid.  That picture of Batman and Robin?  Without them realizing?  That takes some skills.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Tim mumbled, packing his camera back into his bag.  His ears were hot.  He hadn’t shown his pictures to anyone before – well, the GCPD didn’t count, and neither did the small portfolio Tim created for his parents to show him that he wasn’t wasting his time with photography, a portfolio that he’d labored over for <em>hours</em>, and finally received a perfunctory nod before his parents left again – and it felt nice.  To get some praise.  Even if it <em>was</em> from a murderer.</p><p> </p><p>Red Helmet was walking away.  “Go home, kid,” he called out over his shoulder, “You can take photos in daylight too.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim let out a shaky exhale as Red Helmet finally disappeared from sight, his heart rate slowly starting to decrease.  His legs felt like limp noodles.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t gotten shot, he hadn’t gotten his camera stolen or smashed – he’d gotten the scare of his life, but Tim and his things were in one piece.</p><p> </p><p>He stared curiously in the direction Red Helmet had gone as he pulled his backpack back on.  He hadn’t heard of a Rogue or a vigilante with a bright red helmet before.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tim had scoped out this fire escape a week ago – it wasn’t anything special, and it was a good two blocks away from the shore, but because of the way the streets were laid out, if Tim crouched on the third level of the fire escape, he could see a sliver between two buildings and the ocean beyond it.</p><p> </p><p>With the full moon rising, it shot a streak of white-yellow across the dark patch of waves, and Tim fiddled with his camera before he took another shot.  It was beautiful, like peeking through a keyhole to see a new world, and Tim adjusted the lens again before taking another shot.</p><p> </p><p>The quiet <em>click</em> of the camera didn’t quite hide the muffled clang of boots landing on the railing behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Tim froze.</p><p> </p><p>There was no other sounds, even though Tim <em>knew</em> he’d heard someone.  Not even the creak of metal.</p><p> </p><p>Tim bit his lip, hard, and slowly turned around.</p><p> </p><p>Leather jacket, guns, red helmet with eerie, glowing white eyes.  “Hello,” Red Helmet said.</p><p> </p><p>Tim wasn’t sure what sound he made, but he definitely banged his head against the railing as he scrambled up.</p><p> </p><p>“Calm down, kid, I’m not going to eat you,” Red Helmet drawled, hopping off the railing and into Tim’s personal space because three feet was <em>way</em> too close to a guy who had that many guns.  “Whatcha doing?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim stared at him.  Red Helmet stared back, and Tim realized he was waiting for an <em>answer</em>.  “T-taking pictures,” he squeaked out, still pressed back against the railing, his fingers tight on his camera.</p><p> </p><p>“Of what?”  Red Helmet sounded genuinely bewildered as he observed the surrounding area – all old buildings, slowly crumbling apart.</p><p> </p><p>“Um.  The ocean.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can see the ocean from here?” Red Helmet asked, incredulous, tilting his head as if that would make him see better.</p><p> </p><p>Tim swallowed, and pointed to the bars of the railing – and stumbled back, pressing into the corner, as Red Helmet stepped forward and crouched to see through the bars.  “Wow,” he said, the distorted voice quiet, “All these years, and I’ve never seen this.”  He stayed there, squatting, for a little while longer.  “Must be some stunning pictures, kid.”</p><p> </p><p>He stepped away from the railing and straightened.  Up and up and up, because he was nearly as tall as <em>Batman</em>, and Tim was just a kid in a too-big hoodie, trying to look older than he was.</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s knees were knocking together, the camera biting painfully into his fingers.  Red Helmet stared down at him, and released a loud sigh.  “I’m not going to attack you, kid,” he grumbled.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the Red Hood,” Tim stuttered, and the man went eerily still.</p><p> </p><p>Tim couldn’t tear his gaze away from those soulless white lenses, he felt like he was stuck in place and he couldn’t even <em>scream</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Where did you hear that name?” Hood asked, cold and level.</p><p> </p><p>Tim had gone home yesterday and done his research.  Red helmet had only ever meant one thing in Gotham, and the Red Hood gang may have been dead and gone, but the Joker was still alive and kicking.</p><p> </p><p>“I – I looked it up,” Tim swallowed as friendliness leaked out of the man’s posture, turning into something more militant.  “Your – your helmet.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re scared of me because I’m wearing a helmet?” the man asked, but his chuckle was unamused.</p><p> </p><p><em>No</em>, Tim shouted inside his head, <em>I’m scared because I don’t know whether there’s bleached skin behind that helmet</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“The Red Hood,” Tim said slowly, “Became the Joker.”</p><p> </p><p>The man locked up like Tim had tased him, a low, growling hiss cracking through the voice distorter, and Tim’s legs finally, <em>finally</em> unfroze.</p><p> </p><p>Tim was closer to the stairs, and he took them at a leap, crashing down to the next level and hugging his camera to his chest as he scrambled for the remaining steps.  Metal creaked above him, and Tim hurriedly pushed against the ladder, fumbling down it one handed, and letting go before he was all the way down.</p><p> </p><p>His knees slammed into asphalt with stinging aches, and Tim hissed at the scrapes on his palms before he lurched back up to his feet.  He didn’t glance behind him, didn’t check to see how close Hood was, or if he was gaining, or if he’d taken off that red helmet and begun to laugh.  Tim just <em>ran</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The maze of alleyways that made up East-End-Crime-Alley-Bowery was difficult enough to navigate in broad daylight, where absent glances were needed to figure out which alleyways to risk and which to avoid.  Unfortunately for Tim, it was the middle of the night, and even the rising full moon wasn’t enough light to see all the monsters.</p><p> </p><p>Tim yelped as he accidently plowed into the back of someone’s legs, landing hard on his side and only allowing himself a moment to be stunned before pushing himself back up.  The conversation in front of him cut off as the man he’d bumped into righted himself and turned around.</p><p> </p><p>Tim was breathing heavily, his chest squeezing painfully and his fingers shaking.  There was a whole gang of them, all staring at Tim, and he hastily backed up a step as their gazes narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, it’s just a kid,” someone snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Watch where you’re going,” the man in the front sneered.</p><p> </p><p>Tim bobbed his head, backing up another step.  “S-sorry,” he whispered, clutching his camera to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” the man at the back called out, his narrowed eyes fixed on Tim, “Didn’t Davis say something about a shrimp hanging around their last meeting?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim swallowed, and backed up another step as the gang spread out.  Shadows played across their faces, but one of them looked very familiar.</p><p> </p><p>Scar across left cheek, ragged beard, fearsome frown – one of the men Tim had clicked a picture of half a week ago, in the middle of a drug deal.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it can’t be,” another man said, “He’s just a kid.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim inched back another step.  He couldn’t be more than a few feet from the alley entrance, if he makes a run for it –</p><p> </p><p>“He has a camera,” hissed someone from the back, and they all fell silent.</p><p> </p><p>The tension ratcheted up.  Tim twisted on a heel, lunging for the street, <em>this was bad, this was very, very bad</em> –</p><p> </p><p>And choked as the collar of his hoodie snapped tight across his throat, effectively strangling him as they dragged him back by the hood.  “<em>No</em>,” Tim tried to scream, but he didn’t have the breath, and he tripped as they threw him down, landing painfully on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“You little snitch,” Scarface sneered, and Tim wanted to deny it, wanted to shout, wanted to – a foot slammed into his stomach and he wheezed, unable to breathe.  “Thought you’d try playing at being a cop?”</p><p> </p><p>Another kick, and Tim tried to curl up, but his legs were yanked away from him and someone tore the camera from his trembling fingers.  “<em>Stop</em>,” Tim gasped, and choked when the next kick collided with his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“Got some pictures of Batman and Robin too,” someone jeered.  A hand tightened around his throat and hauled him up – Tim frantically clawed at the grip, but he couldn’t stop them from slamming him against the alley wall, and his head cracked painfully against the brick.  Nausea surged as bursts of light clouded his vision and Tim scraped his fingernails across the arm holding him in place as he struggled.</p><p> </p><p>“You one of those Bat fans, kid?  You think they’re going to come and save you?” the man in front of him laughed, and Tim saw his fist stretch back through blurred vision.  That was going to hit him.  That was going to smash into his <em>face</em>, and Tim couldn’t stop it, and –</p><p> </p><p>The <em>bang</em> of a gunshot was almost unreal.</p><p> </p><p>The man holding him <em>howled</em> and jerked back, letting go of Tim.  Tim slid-scraped down the wall, his knees crumpling beneath him, and curled up into as small a ball as he could as shouts and screams and gunshots echoed in the air.</p><p> </p><p>“Who the fuck are you?” someone screamed as a bullet <em>ding</em>ed off the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“Someone who hates watching kids get hurt,” a deep, furious, mechanized voice answered, and Tim trembled as he clutched his knees.</p><p> </p><p>The gunshots stopped, and silence fell abnormally fast.  Suddenly, Tim’s quiet sniffles were the loudest sound around.</p><p> </p><p>Quiet footsteps, nearing him.</p><p> </p><p>“Kid?” the distorted voice called out, “Kid, I’m not going to hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim couldn’t stop shivering, even as he slowly twisted his head enough to catch a glimpse of red.  Hood was crouching next to him, gun lowered, watching him silently.  Around him, Tim could see unmoving limbs.</p><p> </p><p>“Kid?” Hood called again, the distorted voice sounding almost…concerned.</p><p> </p><p>Tim uncurled, and lunged forward, crashing into armor that was harder than he expected.  He gasped as the breath was forced from his stuttering lungs, but he didn’t let go, gripping harder at cracked noise of surprise.</p><p> </p><p>His stomach was cramping painfully and <em>everything</em> was trembling and he couldn’t breathe properly – those men had been planning to hurt him – those men were <em>dead</em> – he buried his face against the leather jacket, cheeks wet and freezing – he’d never been more terrified in his life, and that included the time that he fell two stories off the roof and lay in a bush, winded and paralyzed and <em>alone</em>, for what felt like an eternity before he managed to roll over and get back up.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Hood said softly, “They won’t hurt you again, it’s okay.”  A hand settled on his back and slowly patted him.  “You’re safe, kid, it’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim hung onto him – onto the Red Hood – onto the <em>murderer</em> – and Hood let him, not commenting on Tim’s sniffles, or the tears on his leather jacket.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, someone may be coming to investigate the commotion,” Hood said slowly.  Tim stiffened as Hood wrapped his arms around him, and lifted as he straightened – he was holding Tim easily, like he was a toddler instead of <em>ten</em>, but Tim didn’t think his legs were up to cooperating right now, so he allowed it.</p><p> </p><p>Hood carried him back to the street and to a different alleyway, a minute’s walk away.  He placed Tim on top of a closed dumpster and stepped back to observe him as Tim scrubbed at his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Tim kept one arm curled around his stomach, and didn’t answer.  The tears kept falling, no matter how hard he tried to wipe them away, and his breaths were turning into hitched gasps again.  “It’s okay,” Hood said, “Kid – what’s your name?  You can call me Hood.”</p><p> </p><p>“J-Jack,” Tim forced out.</p><p> </p><p>Hood snorted, and Tim stared at him as he stepped closer.  “Sorry,” Hood said, “It’s just – I have a brother named Jackson.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”  Tim tried to curl up further, but Hood was in front of him again, tugging at Tim’s arm and pressing carefully at Tim’s ribs and stomach.  Tim’s breath caught several times, and he made a pained hiss when Hood’s fingers drifted over a growing bruise, but nothing felt <em>really</em> bad.  Hood stepped even closer, gloved hands skimming over the back of Tim’s head, where he’d cracked it against the wall, before stepping back, apparently satisfied.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing looks broken, Jack,” Hood said, “But I can still take you to Doc Thompkins’ clinic if you like?”</p><p> </p><p>Anyone who knew Dr. Leslie Thompkins couldn’t be a <em>real</em> bad guy, right?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m f-fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Hood nodded, before his shoulders hunched up, “I’m sorry for scaring you earlier, kid.  You just caught me off guard.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim considered him.  And remembered the growl.  “You don’t like the Joker,” Tim deduced, curling slightly in case Hood reacted badly again.</p><p> </p><p>Hood barked out a laugh, “You can say that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why,” Tim asked quietly, “Are you using his name?”</p><p> </p><p>Hood considered him for a long moment.  “That’s a complicated story,” he said finally, “But the short answer is that he stole a name from me.  So I decided to do the same to him.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim bobbed his head.  He didn’t know what the Joker had stolen from Hood, but the logic made sense.  Hood took a deep breath, before letting it out again.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you this city’s not safe at night,” Hood grumbled, “Your pictures really worth it, Jack?”  He had Tim’s camera in his hand, and it was half smashed and covered in blood.</p><p> </p><p>Tim scowled at him.  “Of course,” he said vehemently, which seemed to shock Hood.  Tim didn’t just take pictures of the ocean, he took pictures of things that helped the GCPD, that helped Batman and Robin, and he wasn’t going to <em>stop</em> because bad people were mad at him.</p><p> </p><p>Hood shook his head and chuckled.  “Don’t even know why I tried,” he muttered quietly, before handing the camera back to Tim.  “Go home,” he instructed, “Take a hot shower.  Get some ice packs if your stomach still hurts, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Tim nodded, hopping of the dumpster.  His knees ached and he still felt a little sick, but the churning sea of panic had receded.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, kiddo,” Red Hood ruffled his hair before letting Tim pass him to get back to the street.  “Stay out of trouble,” he called after him.</p><p> </p><p>The last sight Tim had of him was Hood staring at the watch on his wrist.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The camera was ruined.  The data card was salvageable, but nothing else, and Tim needed to plan carefully if he wanted to obtain a new camera.  For now, he grabbed the disposable camera he’d gotten a long time ago, and the police scanner he’d constructed.</p><p> </p><p>The contrast on the disposable camera wasn’t high enough to grab any decent pictures of Batman and Robin, but it would be enough to get some decent shots of any illicit activity.  The police scanner would give him some opportunities, and Tim walked near Robinson Park, tuning the radio and listening carefully.</p><p> </p><p>“Jack!” Tim whirled around, and saw Hood on the other side of the street.  He warily glanced around the empty streets before jogging over to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Out again?” Hood asked, when Tim was closer, helmet dipping down to observe the much smaller camera Tim was clutching.  “You really don’t know how to quit, do you kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like taking photos,” Tim retorted, narrowing his eyes—why was Hood <em>stalking</em> him?  “Don’t <em>you</em> have anything better to do?”</p><p> </p><p>Hood barked out a half-laugh and muttered something that sounded like <em>‘a little shit in every universe’</em>.  “I’m waiting on my ride,” he said, staring at the blocky watch again, “Shouldn’t be too long.  I’ll probably be gone by tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gone from…Gotham?  You’re not from here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not exactly,” Hood said, something amused in his tone, “Just got stranded here for a couple of days.”</p><p> </p><p>Huh.  Hadn’t he said something about living here?  And he knew the Joker.  Tim had the creeping sense that he wasn’t getting the full story—</p><p> </p><p>The police radio crackled, and Tim turned his attention to it, tuning the dials as the scratchy whine resolved into broken words.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that?” Hood asked, curious, and Tim shushed him, carefully turning the dial until—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“—Arkham breakout—”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“—Amusement Mile—”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“—careful—”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“—Batsignal’s lit—”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tim turned, along with Hood, and they could see the shadow of the bat against the cloudy sky.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“The Joker’s escaped.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The radio was snatched out of his hand.  “Hey!” Tim said automatically, twisting, but Hood backed away, radio in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Go home,” Hood said, his voice coming out strange and flat.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s <em>mine</em>,” Tim snapped, stepping forward but Hood jerked back, his body tense and not at all friendly.  He grabbed Tim’s hand before Tim could make another lunge for the radio, and his grip was <em>tight</em>.  Bordering on painful.</p><p> </p><p>Tim froze.</p><p> </p><p>“Go <em>home</em>,” Hood snarled, and that was rage in his tone, easily identifiable, “This isn’t some two-bit drug dealer, kid.  It’s the <em>Joker</em>.  Go back to your house, lock all the doors, and <em>don’t leave</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can take care of myself,” Tim said—he meant to snap, but his voice ended up cracking as Hood loomed over him.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Hood chuckled, unamused, “I thought that too.”  He let go of Tim’s hand, sending him stumbling back, and Tim warily edged a step back as Hood stared at him.  “You have two options, kid,” Hood said, mechanized tone dark and dangerous, “Either you go home and <em>stay home</em>, or I’m going to tie you up and hide you in a hole.  Your choice.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim edged back another step.  He remembered the gunshots, the easy, casual way Hood murdered an alley full of people.  The <em>blood</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I—I’ll go home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good choice,” Hood said.  Tim stumbled back, unwilling to take his eyes off of Hood, and the red helmet watched him dispassionately.  The police radio still crackled out updates.</p><p> </p><p>Tim could feel eyes on him all the way home.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tim couldn’t go to sleep.  He’d stayed on his laptop as the clock ticked on—no news of the Joker’s capture.  No news of Batman.  <em>No news</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He should go back out.  Find Batman and Robin.  Confirm that they were safe.</p><p> </p><p>He thought back to Hood’s half-order-half-threat, and shivered.  The Red Hood had a strange way of running into him, and Tim didn’t want to cross him.</p><p> </p><p>Tim sighed and flopped back on his bed.  He didn’t like <em>waiting</em>.  It was the reason he’d taken to the streets in the first place—reading news articles and forum posts was interesting, but he needed <em>more</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He contemplated the ceiling—if only he had his police scanner, if only he <em>knew</em> what was going on—</p><p> </p><p>He almost didn’t register the sound of his window sliding open.</p><p> </p><p>It was odd.  It was entirely unexpected.  He lived in <em>Bristol</em>, they had a <em>gate</em>, he’d disabled the alarms on his window a year ago and now he was watching the Red Hood slip inside.</p><p> </p><p><em>What</em>, was all his mind was capable of handling.  What was—<em>how did</em>—Tim didn’t understand.</p><p> </p><p>Hood turned, and saw him staring.  He was covered in blood—it gleamed sickly against the dark armor.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Tim,” the mechanized voice greeted.</p><p> </p><p>Tim—Tim hadn’t given him his real name.  His <em>address</em>.  He hadn’t—what was Hood—Tim realized that he needed to get <em>away</em> when Hood reached the edge of the bed.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, there was nowhere to get away <em>to</em>, a fact Tim only realized after he backed himself into the corner.  “What—what are you <em>doing</em> here?”</p><p> </p><p>Hood checked his watch again.  “I wish I could explain,” Hood said slowly, “But I’m running out of time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Explain <em>what</em>?  And why are you covered in blood?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, kid,” Hood said, “I really don’t have the time.  Are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?”</p><p> </p><p>“Doing <em>what</em>?” Tim almost shouted, his gaze darting around the room—the phone was too far away, there was nothing he could use as a weapon, his fists weren’t going to cut it against Hood’s armor, and dread was sinking in his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>He’d gone a whole <em>year</em> without any problems.  He—he—he was being cornered in his <em>bedroom</em> by a man twice his size, a man who’d already shown that he was capable of murder in cold blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Come with me,” Hood held out a hand.</p><p> </p><p>“I went back home,” Tim said, mouth dry, “Like you told me to.”  <em>“I’m going to tie you up and hide you in a hole.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Hood huffed out an unamused chuckle.  “Come on, Tim,” Hood said, waggling his fingers, “We <em>literally</em> do not have time for this.”</p><p> </p><p>How did Hood <em>know his name</em>?  How long had he been watching Tim?</p><p> </p><p>“Where?” Tim asked, stalling but having no clue what he was stalling for.  No one was going to hear him if he screamed.  No one was going to check on him for a couple of days.</p><p> </p><p>“Home,” Hood said simply.</p><p> </p><p>“This <em>is</em> home,” Tim tried, wondering if Hood was supposed to be in Arkham.</p><p> </p><p>Hood laughed.  “This?” he chuckled, waving his hand at the room around them, “This isn’t a home, kid, it’s a mausoleum.”  Tim made a sound of protest, and Hood dropped the hand, advancing, “Really?  Going tell me that the hallways aren’t full of worthless trophies?  Going to tell me that your parents aren’t gone?”  Tim’s blood ran cold.  “Do you even know where they are right now?  Do you know when they’re coming back?  Do you realize that normal parents don’t leave their kids unsupervised for <em>months</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim couldn’t speak.  Tim couldn’t <em>move</em>.  How—how did he <em>know</em>—</p><p> </p><p>“Out of time, kid,” Hood said, and he was only three steps away, “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”</p><p> </p><p><em>No</em>—Tim tried to run, but Hood caught him, an arm slamming into his stomach and a hand catching his right wrist.  Hood pulled back, grabbing his left arm as well, and Tim <em>screamed</em>.</p><p> </p><p>There was no point.</p><p> </p><p>No one could hear him.</p><p> </p><p>Hard plastic locked around his wrists, chaining his arms behind his back, and Tim kept screaming, trying to kick out as he thrashed in Hood’s grip.  A boot in the back of his knees forced him to fall forward, unbalanced, and a knee digging into his back kept him on the ground as he writhed.</p><p> </p><p>Another ziptie tightened around his ankles, locking his feet together.  Tim rubbed his ankles against each other, but the tie caught against bone, refusing to slip past.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m really sorry about this,” Hood said.  Tim tried to suck in a breath, tried to come up with words—<em>please don’t do this</em>—but there was a ripping noise and Hood grabbed his jaw, forcing his mouth closed and taping over it.</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s screams turned to muffled sobs.</p><p> </p><p>“So sorry,” Hood repeated, finally getting off Tim.  Tim managed to get enough momentum to roll over, his wrists pressing painfully against his back as he stared up at Hood.  At the expressionless red helmet.  At the <em>blood</em>—the blood that surely couldn’t be his, there was too much of it, and it was splattered <em>everywhere</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s breathing ticked up, drawing faster, frantic breaths through his nose as he tried to scream through the tape.</p><p> </p><p>“This is for your own good,” Hood informed him.  Tim tried to kick him as he got closer, but the angle was too awkward, and Hood just caught his legs and hauled him up, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.</p><p> </p><p>Tim struggled—even the painful drop to the floor six feet below was better than whatever Hood wanted to do to him—but Hood had an arm wrapped around the back of his knees, too tight to allow much movement.  Hood moved easily through the house, clearly unconcerned about getting caught, and Tim tried screaming again when he walked out the front door, making muffled whines through the tape.</p><p> </p><p>But Hood didn’t go for the gates, or a car.  He kept walking, heading for the woods at the edge of the property, and Tim fought <em>harder</em>—there was no good reason for a bloodstained murderer to be carrying him into the woods.</p><p> </p><p>It was useless.  Hood was too strong to fight against, and Tim couldn’t keep up his struggles.  Fatigue crept through his muscles as Hood kept walking, and Tim was forced to go limp, tears streaking off his face to land on the ground.  All he could do was imagine a myriad of horrible futures—and he hadn’t even been on the streets, he’d been at <em>home</em>, home was supposed to be <em>safe</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Hood stopped, and there was a beeping noise, like he was entering something into a keypad.  Tim sniffled—all he could see was Hood’s legs and the dirt.  He blinked furiously, but the tears kept coming.</p><p> </p><p>Something grated, steel scraping across stone, and Hood was walking again.  Tim tried a muffled scream, but it was useless, and he felt a shiver run down his spine as the moonlight disappeared to darkness.</p><p> </p><p>Oh god.</p><p> </p><p>Where was Hood <em>taking</em> him?</p><p> </p><p>The man stayed perfectly silent, boots near-silent against the stone, and the darkness gave way to light again.  Tim could see snatches of walls and desks—he tried to crane his neck up, to see where he was, but his neck ached and he had to drop it after only catching a glimpse of what looked like a giant penny.</p><p> </p><p>More beeping.  This time, the door opened with a <em>hiss</em> of unsealing.  Hood shifted his grip, and Tim widened his eyes in surprise as Hood shrugged him off, settling him on a smooth floor.</p><p> </p><p>Glass walls.  Hood stepped back.  Glass <em>door</em> clicking shut.  He—he was in a cave?  Fluorescent lights illuminated a desk full of monitors, a gym, a <em>dinosaur</em>—and Hood was walking away.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry about that,” Hood called over his shoulder, <em>leaving</em> him, “Remember to be good, Timmy.  And stop sneaking out.”</p><p> </p><p>Leaving him, in a cell, in a <em>cage</em>, in a large, abandoned cave.</p><p> </p><p>Tim tried to shout, but the sharpest sound he could make was a high-pitched whine, and Hood didn’t turn.  His wrists were still tied behind him, as were his ankles, and he shuffled forward on his knees, driving his shoulder into the glass door.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t open.  He tried again, <em>harder</em>, and again, until his shoulder was throbbing painfully, but the door didn’t budge and the glass didn’t break.  He tried to shriek.  He tried to get up.  He tried to break the door with his other shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>A sizzling sound.  Nails <em>screech</em>ing down chalkboard.  Hood disappeared between one blink and the next.</p><p> </p><p>The cave was empty.  Tim was all alone, and no one was coming for him.</p><p> </p><p>Tim pressed his face to the glass, tape tight across his lips, and <em>screamed</em>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He didn’t know how long it’d been before he heard voices.  How long he’d spent, curled up, sobbing furiously but silently, pressed against the glass door in the faint, illogical hope that it would release.  How long before he heard footsteps and exclamations and dully realized that they weren’t inside his own head.</p><p> </p><p>How long before he raised his head, in growing hope and terror, to see—a cowled shadow and a brightly-colored boy almost bouncing next to him.</p><p> </p><p>Tim stared at them, frozen in shock for a long, stretching moment.</p><p> </p><p>They—they’d come to save him?</p><p> </p><p>Tim shouted—or tried to, forcing out as loud a sound as possible through the tape.  Batman and Robin stilled, their gazes snapping his way, and Tim made a muffled shout again, banging against the glass.</p><p> </p><p>Robin moved first—he was cursing, and he practically slammed a code in before wrenching open the door and catching Tim before he could faceplant.</p><p> </p><p>“Shhh,” Robin—<em>Jason</em> said, peeling the tape off his mouth, “Shh, it’s okay, we got you.”  Tim wanted to form words—to tell them about Hood, to say <em>thank you</em>, to do <em>something</em> other than sob, half-curled into Jason’s chest as the older boy fumbled with the zipties before slicing them off.</p><p> </p><p>Tim yanked his wrists free as soon as he was able to, and clutched Jason tightly—he couldn’t go, he couldn’t leave, <em>people kept leaving him and Tim couldn’t</em>—and Jason murmured low, soothing reassurances as he gently patted Tim’s back.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Jason said quietly, letting him cry into the front of his suit, “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”  Tim <em>knew</em> that, and he cried even <em>harder</em>—it felt like the dread had been scooped out of him, and taken all his self-control with it.</p><p> </p><p>Batman’s cape rustled nearby, and the sense of protection swelled—Tim turned enough to watch him examine the cell, looking for anything out of place.  “How did this happen?” he growled.</p><p> </p><p>Tim took a fresh glance at his surroundings.  Computer set up.  Gym.  Cases…of older Robin and Batman uniforms.  A ten-minute walk from his house.</p><p> </p><p>This was Batman’s secret hideout.  They were <em>under Wayne Manor</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Batman finished his examination and turned to Tim.  “B,” Jason said in a low, warning tone, holding Tim tighter, but Batman just crouched in front of them, a safe distance away.</p><p> </p><p>“What is your name?” Batman asked, quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“T—Tim Drake.”  Batman was supposed to be scary but here, wrapped up in Robin’s embrace, Tim had never felt safer.</p><p> </p><p>“What happened, Tim?” Batman asked, still quiet.  Patient.</p><p> </p><p>“B, can we save the interrogation—”</p><p> </p><p>Tim pushed upright, resettling against Jason, because—because if this was Batman’s hideout, then they needed to know.  It—it was compromised, and they needed to know.</p><p> </p><p>“I—I was taken,” Tim said, his voice hoarse, “From my bedroom.  B—by Hood.  He—he brought me here and l—locked—” Tim couldn’t even look at the cell, and Jason made a quiet sound and shifted back, until they were facing away from it.</p><p> </p><p>“Hood?” Batman prompted.</p><p> </p><p>“The Red Hood,” Tim sniffled.  Jason’s arms tightened.  Batman went very still.</p><p> </p><p>“The <em>Joker</em> knows how to get into the Cave?!” Jason squawked in horror, and Tim was already shaking his head by the time Batman spoke up.</p><p> </p><p>“The Joker is dead,” Batman said quietly, “Tim, can you describe the Red Hood?”</p><p> </p><p>“He—he was big.  A—almost as big as you.  Red helmet.  Leather jacket.  G—guns.  He had a red bat on his armor.”  Jason made another vehement noise.  “He was—he was covered in blood.”</p><p> </p><p>Batman made a thoughtful noise.  “How did you get in?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Tim pointed in the general direction they’d come from.  “A tunnel in the woods.  He knew the codes.”  He remembered the strangeness of Hood’s departure.  “A—and he <em>disappeared</em>.”  Tim waved to the last location he’d seen Hood.</p><p> </p><p>Batman straightened fluidly and stalked off in that direction.  Tim let himself stay in Robin’s arms as Jason patted his back, reassuring him that he was safe now.</p><p> </p><p>“Time magic,” Batman called back gruffly, “Dimensional.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Jason replied, “But that description doesn’t match—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m aware.  A second traveler.  Same dimension, if this is calibrated correctly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” Jason said.  And then, looking down at Tim, “<em>Huh</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Batman walked back over to them.  “Risk of secondary infiltration low, but I will be running a sweep of the Batcave.”  The <em>Batcave</em>.  Tim couldn’t believe they actually called it that.  Jason smiled at Tim’s snort, and Batman crouched down again.  “Did the Red Hood hurt you, Tim?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim thought about it for a moment—his mouth was still tingling from the tape, and his wrists hurt, but that was arguably more due to his struggling than due to Hood, and Hood…hadn’t actually hurt him.  He’d just kidnapped him.  And put him in the <em>Batcave</em>.  Surely he would’ve known that Batman and Robin would come back?</p><p> </p><p>And he’d kept <em>apologizing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Tim shook his head.  He’d been terrified, but not injured.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad you’re okay, Tim,” Jason said, rubbing his back, “We’ll get some restorative hot chocolate before any more questions, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim nodded, “Thanks, Jason.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s arms went rigid as he froze.  The tension around Tim skyrocketed.</p><p> </p><p>“What did you call me?” Jason asked flatly.</p><p> </p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p>Oh <em>no</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tim tore himself out of Jason’s arms—trying to straighten up, but stumbling and ending up crawling back, shivering as Robin stared at him with a blank expression, white lenses fixed on him.  Behind him, Batman, <em>Bruce Wayne</em>, stood, a glowering shadow glaring at Tim.</p><p> </p><p>No no no no no—</p><p> </p><p>“I—I’m sorry—I didn’t—it was a mistake,” Tim babbled, backing away until his head hit something hard.  He looked up and saw the glass wall of the cell.  “I—you’re not Jason, of course you’re not Jason, that would be stupid—it’s ridiculous, right, like Bruce Wayne would ever be Batman?”</p><p> </p><p>Robin and Batman were still silently staring at him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m s—sorry,” Tim gasped, the tears flowing harder, making it difficult to see if they were advancing on him, or—or what if they thought he was a bad guy?  What if they thought he was working with Hood?  What if they <em>took his memories away</em>?  “I did—didn’t mean it, <em>please</em>—I’m not—I never told anyone, I <em>s—swear</em>—please don’t—”</p><p> </p><p>Jason—<em>Robin</em> moved forward and Tim curled up into a ball, burying his face in his knees, knowing that all he was doing was delaying the inevitable.  He was shaking, sobs echoing loudly, and he couldn’t calm down, couldn’t at least be brave in front of Batman and Robin.  He was a stupid, <em>stupid</em> kid, and Hood had proved that, and <em>he</em> had proved that, and now the consequences were finally going to catch up.</p><p> </p><p>“Tim,” Robin said softly, hands catching his shoulders and pulling him up.  Tim let himself be maneuvered, nearly limp, and kept his eyes squeezed shut.  “Tim, it’s okay.  I <em>am</em> Jason.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s eyes flew open, startled, and Jason was smiling at him, domino mask off.  Behind him, Batman had removed his cowl, and was staring at Tim with an expression sterner than Tim had ever seen on Bruce Wayne’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, Tim,” Jason repeated, and tugged Tim back into a hug, “We’re not mad.”  Tim clutched at him and buried his face in the bulletproof weave of the brightly colored suit.  “No one’s going to hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m—I’m <em>sorry</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“Shh, it’s not your fault.  It’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim wasn’t sure he believed him, but at least he was being nice about it.  He lifted his head and scrubbed at his face, the tears leaving him shaky and drained, especially on top of the exhaustion and terror.  He wanted to go home.  He wanted to <em>sleep</em>.</p><p> </p><p>As if Jason could read his mind, the older boy smiled softly at him, “How about we get you home, okay?  I don’t think B has any more questions for you, right?”  Tim looked at Bruce along with Jason, and the man nodded after a long pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Great!” Jason chirped, gently tugging him up to his feet.  Tim wavered, but Jason kept an arm around his shoulders, and Tim leaned into his warmth.  If this was the last time he remembered who Robin was, he wanted to make the most of it.  “Where do you live, Timmers?”</p><p> </p><p>“Next door,” Tim whispered.  Jason stared at him.</p><p> </p><p>“The Drakes own the property next to ours,” Bruce said mildly, and Jason blinked.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t expecting someone to kidnap the neighbor kid, but okay.  What about your parents?  Did Hood hurt them?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim shook his head.  “They’re not at home,” he rasped.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh—do you want to call them?  Can they come back?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim shook his head again.  “They’re on a trip,” Tim said wearily, “They—won’t be home any time soon.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh—okay, um, who’s staying with you?  We can call them.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Do you even know where they are right now?  Do you know when they’re coming back?  Do you realize that normal parents don’t leave their kids unsupervised for months?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tim burst into tears.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey—hey, Tim, it’s okay, you’re not in trouble,” Jason said, panicked, “I swear, you’re not in trouble—”</p><p> </p><p>“I—<em>no one</em>,” Tim forced out through gasping sobs, because no one was at home, no one was staying with him, no one would’ve even <em>realized</em> he was missing until he didn’t show up for school on Monday, and he’d been <em>that</em> close to dying because no one would’ve come looking for him.  “No one’s at home—I—I don’t—my parents—they’re—they’re in Peru—”</p><p> </p><p>“Flight records show them landing in Guyana yesterday morning,” Bruce said levelly.</p><p> </p><p>Tim shuddered harder—that meant they’d changed their itinerary again, that meant they would be coming home <em>later</em>, and right now all he wanted was one of his mother’s hugs.</p><p> </p><p>“Tim,” Bruce said quietly, “Are you telling me that there is no one in your house except you?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim nodded shakily, and something clouded over Bruce’s face.  Jason tightened his grip around Tim.  “Well, you shouldn’t be alone right now, so how about a sleepover?” the older boy chirped, grinning at Tim, “Alfred makes the <em>best</em> hot chocolate, and we can watch Bruce’s stupid old black-and-white movies and eat cookies!”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce mouthed <em>‘stupid old’</em> and looked mock affronted.  Tim couldn’t help the giggle, and Bruce’s expression smoothened to something softer.  Something like the look on his face whenever he watched Jason.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Tim said quietly, and Jason beamed at him.  He could stay with the Waynes for a night.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>In another dimension…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“How is that <em>any </em>better than what I did?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe because I didn’t leave him in some random alley in the East End!  And I didn’t let him think I was <em>dead</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“You kidnapped him!  You actually did the whole gag-zipties-locked-in-a-cell!  How is that not traumatizing!”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t have enough time to explain things!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well perhaps if you hadn’t wasted time dismembering the clown into a hundred pieces—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, if you thought I was going to let that shitstain <em>live</em>—what the fuck are you doing, Replacement.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hugging you.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Why</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“For being a good big brother.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aww, Timmy.”</p><p> </p><p>“It appears Drake is suffering from an undiagnosed head injury.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is exactly the kind of sappy shit I was trying to <em>avoid</em>—”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Jason, starry-eyed: is it my turn to get a baby brother from the dimension storks?<br/>Bruce: that’s not how it—well, I guess that is how it works now.</p><p>In this universe, Bruce works out some sort of ‘temporary’ guardianship with Tim’s parents so that Tim stays with them whenever they’re out of the country.  (This is an arrangement that is acceptable to all parties involved, except Jason, who really wanted to break some noses.)</p><p>In this universe, Jason has a little brother to steer his impulses towards benign things, like starting a prank war, whenever he gets angry at Bruce and Dick’s moral philosophies.  On one memorable occasion, Tim manages to distract him from his growing argument with Bruce by admitting he’s never read Pride and Prejudice, leading to an impressively detailed rant stretching over a full week.</p><p>In this universe, Jason hands the Robin mantle over to Tim in a solemn ceremony, interspersed by Dick’s tears and unsubtle hints that the name ‘Flamebird’ has not yet been taken.  Tim can’t quite control the twitching of his lips as Jason pointedly ignores Dick.</p><p>(In this universe, they don’t figure out who Hood is, or how he knows so much about them—though Tim has his suspicions, especially after hearing Jason’s adoption story.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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